


Platitude

by PacketofRedApples



Category: True Detective
Genre: Animal Death, kid!Rust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decisions not to be made by little children.  </p>
            </blockquote>





	Platitude

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Platitude 老生常谈](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597556) by [Virgil (alucard1771)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/Virgil)



> I feel a tad easier about posting here now, so I hope I won’t annoy you all.  
> 
> Rust should be around 10 here. 

The gun over his shoulder made his fingers itch. He hadn’t shot anything living yet, but the cans were sure enough evidence dad was teaching him.  

Walking through the snow; a hassle for the small body. But dad had let him off to play and there was only so much a child could do in here. Exploring, he could go practice more. Not much of a plan, but it’s what he’s got.

The boy hears the squeal and that sets him running to the general direction, disregard to trying to keep himself warm— curiosity getting him by his throat and dragging his entire being to the source of the sound.  

It’s a small dog. Fur dirty and disheveled; eyes large and scared. The canine is barking and squealing for help, having its paw stuck in some sort of trap that Rust doesn’t even remember seeing.  

The wonder is how the animal even got here, from its state it was nobody’s. Damn thing didn’t even have a collar.  And Rust; well he is just a kid, eager to prove to be bigger than he is. The dog spots him, moving closer to his direction, crying for help. Rust tries not to look, but he’s nailed to the spot, eyes pinned to the broken leg, watching as the sheer weight of the old metal bear trap tears the limb.

He slides the gun off his back. Aims.  

It’s the first in many, but last of what he thinks is mercy. 

Even if he can ignore his dad’s remark when he comes home, he can’t just brush off the image. Things don’t work that way.

And maybe it’s from there on that sleepless nights find him easy.


End file.
